Call and Answer
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: Merlin wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of someone calling him. And this time, he won't be too late to answer. Merthur reunion fic, BECAUSE I CAN.


**Title: Call and Answer**

**Pairing: Merthur**

**Genres: Romance & Friendship**

**Summary: Merlin wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of someone calling him. And this time, he won't be too late to answer.**

**Length: oneshot**

**Dissing of the Claims: If I owned Merlin, it would be … Actually, it's not possible to make it much gayer than it already is … Hmm … I still don't own it, though. Dang.**

**A/N: I realized that you sort of aren't allowed to be in the Merlin fandom anymore unless you've written a reunion fic (or drawn fanart or something) so I wrote one. Even though I'm still on season one. I DO WHAT I WAAANNT. So, yeah, enjoy. And stuff. And review, if you feel inclined. :)**

* * *

"_Merlin!_"

Merlin was dreaming of when he was young, so many centuries ago, and had served Arthur. Arthur was calling for him—his armor needed cleaning, or his sword needed sharpening, or his breakfast needed fetching—and Merlin was grumbling and making snide remarks as he took his sweet time with his duties.

If only he'd known then to savor that time, every moment of it, because his memories were all he had left of Arthur now, two thousand years later …

In the dream, Merlin was taking too long.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted again, so insistent.

"I'm coming, sire, hold your horses!" the young warlock yelled back—but he wasn't going quickly enough, because now he was racing for Arthur, and Arthur needed him more than ever, and he was _taking too long_, and he was too late, and he couldn't answer, and he couldn't save his king—

Merlin sat upright in bed, his old bones creaking as he panted, still feeling the urgency of the nightmare. Even with all of his magic, he had yet to find a way to staunch them—they were a remnant of his guilt at being able to save the thing he loved most in the world, and a manifestation of his fear that Arthur wasn't coming back and he wouldn't get a second chance.

The sound of Arthur calling him still echoed in Merlin's mind.

_Merlin!_

_Merlin!_

_Merlin!_

_MER-LIN! GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE OR I'LL THROW YOU IN THE STOCKS FOR A WEEK!_

And then, Merlin realized it wasn't an echo.

He didn't even stop to think—he just _ran_, as fast as his ancient body could carry him. It was good that he was near the lake; he'd returned to where Camelot used to be at last, after centuries of wandering the Earth and watching mankind grow from a pesky child to a bloody tyrant of a man, because he had felt his magic lighting up again, something stirring … He hadn't dared to hope.

But this kind of summons wasn't one he could easily ignore. Merlin raced down the paths once familiar to him, now overgrown and ever so slightly dangerous in the darkness of the very early morning, praying that he wouldn't be too late, this time. He had waited almost two thousand years for his king to come back to him, and he didn't want to wait a single second longer than he had to.

His old legs were beginning to tire, and breathing was beginning to become difficult, but that was okay, he was almost halfway there, almost halfway to Arthur—

Something crashed into the old warlock with the speed of a charging lion, knocking him off of his feet.

Funny, a tumble to the forest floor hadn't used to hurt this much …

"Oi, watch where you're going, or you'll hurt someone! I mean … hurt someone more than you've already hurt yourself, old man," said a familiar voice from above him.

Merlin looked up to see a hand extended to him—a hand he'd watched wield swords and shoot crossbows and wave orders that he'd never totally understood, a hand that he'd grabbed, a hand that he'd dreamed of…

He grabbed it, and felt himself pulled up, and then he was looking into the most beautiful face he'd ever seen.

_Arthur_.

The king hadn't changed at all since Merlin had saw him last—he still had that same arrogant grin, those same merciful eyes, that same adorably ruffled hair, those same old clothes that looked _much_ too good on him than was fair to anyone. The same Excalibur hung at his belt, and he stared at Merlin with the same mixture of shock, annoyance, and joy.

Merlin couldn't find any words for this moment.

Arthur, of course, could.

"_Mer_lin?" he asked, his mouth almost hanging open. "Is that really you?"

Merlin nodded, still unable to speak and trying not to cry.

"But you're all … _old_! And _wrinkly_! Like a _prune_!" the king exclaimed. "That's … I mean, it's okay, I suppose, an old you is better than no you at all, but … I can't kiss you when you're like this! It would be like kissing my grandfather!"

Merlin was all ready to explain why the disguise of an old man was much better than the disguise of a young one, but those last two sentences threw him off guard.

"… Kiss me?" he repeated, wanting to make sure he hadn't imagined it.

Arthur blushed—_holy mother of magic Merlin had missed that_. "Did I … say that out loud?"

_Kiss me_, Merlin thought. _He wants to kiss me._

And without even saying a spell, Merlin felt his old man guise slip away from him like an unwanted set of clothes—felt his hair become short and dark once again, his beard disappeared, his wrinkles faded—until he was the same young man who'd watched his king die.

Arthur just sort-of stood there for a moment—oh, right, he hadn't seen Merlin do magic on this scale before, had he?

"Is that better, sire?" Merlin asked, grinning.

"Yes, much, thank you," Arthur replied—and then, somehow, they were kissing, and Merlin was holding Arthur like he never wanted to let go, because honestly he didn't, and this was completely and totally worth waiting almost two thousand years for.

It had been a few seconds (_too short but amazing all the same_), and Merlin thought that maybe the kiss was about to get deeper, when Arthur pulled away, gasping as though he couldn't believe what he had just done.

"I-I'm sorry," he said. "That was … Inappropriate. Won't happen again."

"Yes, sire." Merlin attempted to hide his disappointment, but he didn't think he was doing a very good job. _You have Arthur back_, he told himself. _That's more than enough_. And yet … it wasn't.

Arthur examined Merlin, scanning for the emotions he'd somehow always been able to read on the warlock's face.

"Unless …" he added tentatively, "you want it to happen again?"

If Merlin had been a puppy, he would have been wagging his tail at a million miles an hour. As he wasn't a puppy, he sort-of nodded at a million miles an hour. He knew he probably should have made some snide comment about not wanting to kiss a prat like ever Arthur again ever, but it had been almost two thousand years—he didn't need snide comments, not now.

"And we can keep it a secret," Arthur continued, growing more confident.

"Actually," Merlin cut in, grinning, "we don't have to."

Arthur looked at him, confused.

"See, in your absence, people have gotten more tolerant, and there are these things called gay rights …"

Evidently, that argument was convincing enough for Arthur, because Merlin soon found himself pressed in between a tree and a king, having the best experience of his long life.

They didn't have sex there—not yet, that would come later—because what had started out as a passionate dance of lips and tongue transformed into a soft, gentle exploration of bodies, which transformed into two men simply standing there, alone in the forest, with Arthur's arms encircling Merlin's thin body and Merlin's face pressed into Arthur's warm shoulder, because Merlin needed to convince himself that yes, his waiting was finally over, and Arthur needed to convince himself that yes, the man he loved had waited for him.

They had no idea how long they stood there, embracing, tears running down their faces. They'd always been able to communicate without words, so even though no more words were spoken that night, Arthur could hear Merlin calling _almost two thousand years I waited_ and _I missed you_ and _I'm sorry_ in the grip of his arms around Arthur's neck and Merlin could hear Arthur answering _it's not your fault_ and _thank you for waiting for me_ and _I missed you, too_ in the steady beating of his heart.

The sun was just starting to peek its head above the horizon as the warlock and his king headed out of the forest, hand in hand.

_I love you_.

* * *

"_Merlin!"_

Merlin was having that nightmare again, the one in which Arthur was calling for him but he couldn't answer, he was too late, and he always woke up just when he was about to reach him—

"Merlin!"

But this time, when Merlin awoke to bright, midday sunlight, his face felt strangely devoid of hair, his bones felt strangely not creaky, his heart felt strangely light, and there was a golden-haired king standing in the doorway to his room, hands on his hips, demanding that Merlin make him some breakfast because he was absolutely famished and had no clue how to use any of the newfangled contraptions in Merlin's kitchen.

Merlin grinned and hopped out of bed with an, "I'm coming, sire, hold your horses!"

This time, whenever Arthur called for him, he would always answer.


End file.
